Fragments
by Zise
Summary: "The abyss was a place where he had felt at home. It never spoke, it never demanded, it never manipulated. It simply existed, content in its own solidarity." Slow-burn, Obito/OC. HIATUS.
1. Prologue

— f**r**_a_g**m**e_n_**t**s —

* * *

_"The abyss was a place where he had felt at home. It never spoke, it never demanded, it never manipulated. It simply existed, content in its own solidarity."_

* * *

Darkness was swallowing me by the second, and I could not breathe. The air constricted me, trying to reduce me into nothingness, to squish me out of existence. I had no bearing, no sense of anything that was happening around me. My physical body was numb, and my mind was being assaulted by an onslaught of memories that were mine and that were _not_ mine. Faces, some I recognized, flew past my eyes in a horrible imitation of a slideshow, voices mingling and laughter ringing. And then, a shrill, piercing scream, and a haze of red clouded my vision, my eyes widening and my heart pounding furiously in horror and anticipation. Cries of terror, of sorrow, of pain—they crashed around me like roaring waves, harmonious in their meaning, a cacophony of sound that was slowly squeezing my heart, my body, my soul.

Then she was there. Her, with her beautiful, expressive eyes that I had always loved the most. Her, with the soft brown hair that forever smelled of lilacs, of the wonderful scent of earth, and of baked buns. Her, with her porcelain skin that was only marred by one slight scar on the underside of her jaw. Her, with her kind words, her encouragement.

Her, in love with Kakashi.

And it had been her, the one whom he had killed so mercilessly.

I could remember tears, and rivulets of red, and wide, terrified eyes that gazed into mine—no, not mine. Ours. I cried out, and Kakashi knew it. He could feel my emotions, and I could feel the anguish and horror that swam through his mind. But it was his hand, not mine, that was plunged into her heart, the flickering lightning of his signature jutsu crackling in the stillness of that _rainy_, rainy night—

And then I was nothing, and I could not see. I opened my eyes, and black welcomed me with open arms.

_Come, embrace death, _a voice crooned softly into my ear. _You have nothing to lose, and I… have everything to gain. Revive me, and I will help you in your quest. Let me live again, let me cheat death, and my power will remain with you._

My quest… what did the monster within me know of my quest? To create a world without evil, to make a world so pure that it would be the epitome of utopia, was a dream so foolish yet enticing. I had power at my disposal, the world could be at my feet at the snap of my fingers, and yet… I only wanted to live again. To see her for the first and last time, just once, so that I could keep her as my last memory and never forget, for it would always be her face on the forefront of my crazed mind. My broken mind.

Did she know she had broken my heart?

I don't think so.

_Just say it, just that one word… you and I… imagine the possibilities, imagine what you could do, _it slithered like a snake, hissing. _She could be yours. Forever. _

The soft, seductive voice whispered in a slow tone, and imaginary hands touched my shoulders gently, lighter than a feather, and slithered down until they reached where my heart, dead in its own right, was supposed to have been. It rested there.

_Your heart… is not yours to control. _

I had known that since the beginning. It had always been for my family, my people, my village—and now, for the being that resided within me. My heart was not my own, controlled by others and thoughts of her. Unknowingly, I had closed my eyes once more, trying to stop the flow of memories, old and new.

_Will you surrender?_

"For now," I murmured into the abyss, feeling myself falling at breakneck speed into the depths of the unknown.

_For now, _the Juubi agreed jeeringly. _But now is more than enough._

* * *

**Authoress' Note: Try number two. I like writing Obito, but I end up with a shitty prologue almost always. Hopefully, this time, I did a slightly better one. Constructive criticism is loved, and feedback is always welcomed! **

**Question of the chapter: Day or night?**

**EDIT 1: I decided to leave it as a one-shot. It seems fitting, and I don't wanna ruin it by adding more. :]**

**EDIT 2: Okay. I think I'll be continuing this, as I actually got a few ideas last night for the next chapter. Good or bad, it's up to you guys to decide when I post it. **


	2. On The Other Side

— f**r**_a_g**m**e_n_**t**s —

* * *

_"The abyss was a place where he had felt at home. It never spoke, it never demanded, it never manipulated. It simply existed, content in its own solidarity."_

* * *

:: _o_n ** t**h_e _ o**t**_h_**e**r _s_**i**d_e_ ::

The great battlefield had long been deserted in favor of the people returning to their villages, their homes. Smoke rose from large craters, as if the battle had just ended, when in reality, a long fire burned within, unquenchable. Nature was particularly attracted to this secluded section of the world, raining down acid as spouts of green blossomed beautifully on the otherwise rugged, ugly ground marred by scorch marks and deep gashes that oozed fresh mud. If the earth could've spoken, it would have been screaming.

Birds chirped happily as they flew above, ignorant of the events that had taken place below. The death of many, the survival of so many more, and the release of evil and the happiness of good—but it was not that. Good and evil were not set in stone, and they were more shades of grey than could be counted. People did things that were built up from their surroundings, their past, their feelings. They were never inherently evil. They were never truly good, either.

People influenced people, and that was the cold, hard fact of life.

A soft cough broke the silence of the eerie ground. In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by rubble and broken blades and discarded flak-jackets that were rotting and seeping into the earth's surface, a tall, broken figure lay. Half of his face was covered in soot, and the other half was hidden by fragments of a mask long shattered into pieces, somehow still remaining stuck to his face. Lids shut and lashes blacker than night, he took on the appearance of a sleeping prince, his features handsome in a haughty way. Long, thick lines of red covered his visible skin, black and purple splotches vilifying a series of bruises lining his arms. The torn portion of his black haori revealed a gruesome sight: he had probably cracked a rib or few.

In the silence that ensued once more, another cough, this one weak and raspy. The man's eyes snapped open, a pair of beautiful obsidian, and he froze halfway through sitting up. His chest rose and tensed, and his shoulders shook—then he spat out a mouthful of blood, coughing loudly and rolling over on his side, clutching his gut and careful to avoid his ribs. Instantly, the scabs, gashes and incisions on his person disappeared, the protruding shape of a rib slowly curving inward and smoothing down until nothing but old blood remained. His mask fell off in clumps of ceramic, revealing a slightly shiny, scaly texture on the right portion of his cheekbones.

"F-fuck," he gasped, spitting out another gob of blood forcefully, hacking out everything that remained in his stomach and parched throat. "Fuck you, Juubi, just…"

_Pathetic human, _sneered an oddly androgynous voice. _I promised you life, a second chance, not a painless existence._

"Go to hell."

A small puddle of blood formed on the ground. The Juubi did not reply.

Obito glared at the sky, his face grim. He squeezed his eyes shut, trembling fingers reaching up to trace the shimmering scales on the right half of his face.

_What a freak I've turned into, _he bitterly spat. _A mutation of the most ridiculous degree._

Get up, his brain told him. Get up, and walk. Even if you don't know where, just walk until you reach what you're looking for. You have another chance. Don't waste it.

"Another chance…" he mocked softly, standing up slowly. He was fully healed, not a single scar remaining—but that didn't mean he was healed mentally. He doubted he would ever be, not until he finally was at peace with himself, and with _her_, and with Kakashi. "Yeah, right. Like I haven't sacrificed half of my soul for this."

He could sense the tingling of the Juubi's chakra mixing in with his own, bypassing everything and heading straight for the core. Soon, it would be a part of him that he could never erase.

Yet another stain on his hands.

The nearest town, Port City, took him an entire day to get to. By the time he arrived at the large, iron-wrought gates, night had fallen long ago, the ominous moon staring him down. Obito frowned; if the plan had gone successfully, the moon would not have remained as pure a white as it looked from the earth below. A shade of red, with the terrifying swirl of the Sharingan would have been painted all over it. An unsightly appearance, no doubt of it.

"Your identity card?" asked the chunin manning the gate, his eyes fixed on the small notepad he held, a thin brush in the other. When he received no answer, he glanced up. "Excuse… oh, fuck, you're alive? Uch—!" His voice died halfway through as Obito's mismatched eyes glared daggers at him, and within the next second, he was on the grassy ground, neck bent awkwardly at an odd angle.

Obito stepped over the body. There was no use hiding it, for they would obviously notice the missing shinobi. At least this way, they would just think it was a random nin who killed the weakling and ran off.

Sometimes, he was thankful for Konoha's lack of technology in comparison to other villages, especially to the likes of Kumo.

The village was deserted, the cobblestone path leading into winding twists and turns into the well-established town. The smell of the salty sea air permeated his nose, and it felt… fresh. A soft, playful breeze danced in the darkness, a few green leaves flying and swaying along in a soundless dance. His ears picked up on the fluttering of lithe wings, and then the hooting of owls, their curious golden eyes blinking widely at him from their hiding spots in the large, looming trees. Possibly wondering who the strange man was, with his long black cloak, his lower face covered by a black cloth, and his dark, _dark_ hair.

Obito turned left.

"Oof!" grunted a voice, stumbling backwards and barely standing upright. The girl, clad in a knee-length kimono of red and cream, rubbed at her forehead vigorously, strands of short red hair looking bright and obnoxious in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was going!"

She paused, staring at his covered face.

Obito remained impassive, his brows furrowing the tiniest bit. The girl had an unusual chakra signature, the same type that he associated with… with Kushina-san. The Uzumaki clan had a distinct, sharp feel to their chakra, something that resembled a burning flame on a cold winter night. It was warm, and comforting. Her hair was bright, and he could see distinct similarity between her and Kushina-san—why he still called the latter _–san_… he did not know.

"Um, right," the girl slowly said, stepping backwards, a paper bag tucked safely into the crook of her arm. She sounded unsure. He could not blame her; meeting a masked stranger on such a deserted night would make anyone uneasy, and he rightfully deserved the caution she gave him. One as powerful as him deserved no less. He felt triumphant. "I… I'll be going. I'm really sorry, again!"

And she spun around, the nostalgic red strands flying and settling to about her jaw, and ran like the devil was on her heels.

He looked on after her, the cogs in his mind whirring furiously.

* * *

"Hokage-sama."

Tsunade waved a hand at him, banging down her sake bottle loudly on the wooden desk. "Ah, Inuzuka. Took you long enough, brat."

Kiba frowned at her, striding to the desk and bracing both hands on it. "I thought you said the tracking team was to be back by today?" His arm muscles were frigid, tense, the tan skin mixing in with the black of his ANBU uniform. His mask was pushed to the side of his face, the snarling dog obstructed from view by his mess of unruly brown hair.

"That they were," Tsunade pleasantly replied, although her eyes were glinting dangerously. "Is there any reason for you to be standing over me as if you were the Shodai himself, Inuzuka?"

Kiba clicked his tongue, sharp canines poking out to touch his lower lip. He retracted his arms, standing up straight and crossing his arms. "Better?"

"A lot."

There was a small pause, where Tsunade avoided his eyes, pretending to shuffle a stack of papers, ignoring the bottle of sake on her desk for a change. Kiba's sharp, narrowed eyes followed every movement irritably.

"Well?" he demanded after a split second of hesitance. "Why aren't they back yet? Port City isn't too damn far from here, you know."

Tsunade sighed.

"Apparently, a day ago, a chunin was found dead outside the gates. There were no traces of the attacker, but the team we sent decided to stay back a few more days and see if the attacker would return—the ninja forces stationed at Port City aren't exactly the best, since we're still recuperating from the war."

"And I wasn't informed of this… why?" Kiba said, raising an eyebrow. His tone had changed from a snappish lilt to a more cordial one.

"I did call you here today, didn't I, Inuzuka?" Tsunade smirked. "Of course, you're free to join your teammates." She flung a thick, tightly bound folder towards him, and he caught it with ease.

"Glad you understand," he nodded, a satisfied turn to his lips. He turned to leave. The large kanji of 'five' was emblazoned on the white cape he wore, and the second, smaller insignia of 'tracking squad' was tattooed right below the ANBU swirl.

"I expect a report from Port City, personally written by you, _Captain_ Inuzuka," Tsunade called after him.

The door slammed shut.

* * *

**Authoress' Note: Hurrah. Was the chapter alright? I still haven't gotten into the hang of Narutoverse yet, as it's been ages since I actually wrote a multi-chapter. I'd love some feedback!**

**Question of the chapter: Do first impressions really last?**


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